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Forget about the Eels or the Cowboys or Rebel Wilson – September’s real rags to riches tale is the battling Roosters.
Despite finishing a depressing 15th last year, Trent Robinson’s side has somehow managed to rebound straight back to the top with nothing more than a makeshift side of internationals.
Now the battlers from Bondi stand only 80 minutes from breaking their arduous premiership drought of almost four years.
How is this not the feelgood story of the millennium?
It appears this epic resurgence has been unjustly eclipsed by tiresome alt-fairytales like the Cowboys (predictable injury crisis), the Eels (everyday salary cap melodrama and predictable injury crisis), and to a lesser extent, the Panthers (nowhere near the beach).
Frankly, it’s a sad day when an Eastern Suburbs-based outfit can’t win the hearts of rugby league’s working-class community.
It’s even more bizarre when you consider the game’s famed old saying; when the Roosters are booming, rugby league is also booming and/or generally suspicious.
We should be drawing strength from their gutsy methods, not mocking them with jokes about unproven financial irregularities.
(Photo by Cameron Spencer/Getty Images)
If you haven’t noticed, the old days are gone when playing for the club used to be something you’d do after taking off your pink Armani pants.
These days, the Roosters are affable, rootsy and blue collar like the back-breaking trendoids of a Coogee juice startup.
Nick Politis runs the club on the smell of an oily Louis Vuitton monogrammed washcloth, even sometimes forced to make ends meet with reformed felons and heaps and heaps of resources.
Then on the field, the team sends an inspirational message to the youngsters by drifting in focus and surviving on pure talent.
There’s no doubt about it, they have proved you can achieve anything with hard work and a disproportionate level of corporate support.
But despite the Roosters tirelessly spreading the gospel as far west as Paddington, the neutral finals fan couldn’t give a grain-fed sushi doughnut about the club’s stunning revival.
It’s a real mystery why these commoners haven’t joined the groundswell of the club’s diehards and its bandwagon of blow-in celebs, personal trainers and the cocaine set.
Despite the Roosters beating the odds, nobody is joining the movement and planting a flag on their BMW SUV or flocking to “meet the boys” to watch the game over a coupla frothies down at Ravesi’s.
There’s not even an appetite to see famous fans like Mark Bouris and Malcolm Turnbull finally get a fair break in life with a much-needed win.
Weirdly, the Chooks faithful are the only people abuzz about witnessing the greatest resurrection since Jesus re-awoke in the 2002 grand final after being thumped by Richard Villasanti.
Got me stuffed, it has.